


just like a massive attack song

by stilinskisparkles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sex, Video Cameras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 00:02:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2487128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisparkles/pseuds/stilinskisparkles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Okay!" Stiles throws his hands up, "We’re getting off topic."</p><p>"You’re right," Derek smirks at him over his own coffee, "You needed my help with something?"</p><p>Stiles narrows his eyes, as if totally aware of Derek exuding smugness over having won that particular argument, and then blurts out, “I need your help filming porn.”</p><p>Derek had been taking a victory sip of pumpkin spice latte, and promptly chokes on it. Stiles looks briefly triumphant, and then begins chewing on a thread trailing from one of his fingerless gloves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just like a massive attack song

**Author's Note:**

> it was requested i post this here from a tumblr meme ♥

"I need your help."

Derek looks up from the article he’s reading on the ipad Cora bought him for Christmas, ignores the  _oh so slight_  trip of his heart as Stiles throws himself into the chair opposite him and shakes snow out of his hair. 

"Okay."

"Dude," Stiles smiles faintly, pulls his coffee cup closer as he settles in, "You don’t know what you’re agreeing to, yet. I could be asking you to help me shovel snow off the drive."

Derek shrugs, “Then I’ll help you shovel snow.”

"So weird that you do that these days," Stiles sighs dramatically, rests his chin on one hand as he grins at Derek, "Remember when you’d just shove me against a door and say no?"

"That was over five years ago!"

"Aw, you look so embarrassed," Stiles prods at his cheek, and Derek snaps his teeth at him. 

"Was there something you needed again?"

"Oh, yeah, uh, so," Stiles fidgets for a moment, scratches his nose, "I, uh, feel free to say no, but, uh, okay—"

"Stiles."

"You know how I’m now a very poor college graduate and the Jeep’s super screwed after the incident we do not speak of—"

"Where you thought it would be a good idea to practice hand break turns on ice."

"For  _emergencies_. Why do you always leave that bit out? I was being sensible; planning ahead.”

"You were messing around, and it was dangerous."

"It was fine!"

"You practically totalled the Jeep."

"Okay!" Stiles throws his hands up, "We’re getting off topic."

"You’re right," Derek smirks at him over his own coffee, "You needed my help with something?"

Stiles narrows his eyes, as if totally aware of Derek exuding smugness over having won that particular argument, and then blurts out, “I need your help filming porn.”

Derek had been taking a victory sip of pumpkin spice latte, and promptly chokes on it. Stiles looks briefly triumphant, and then begins chewing on a thread trailing from one of his fingerless gloves. 

"So, uh, what do you think?"

"Film porn?" Derek repeats incredulously, voice just loud enough for the couple at the next table to look over at them in surprise. 

"Oh, like you haven’t thought about it," Stiles snaps at them before turning back to Derek. " _Yes_.”

"Stiles, I know you make those stupid jokes about my creeper tendencies—"

"They’re not jokes, they’re actual observations."

"—Nonetheless, actually watching people—"

"No, no, not watching other people! Us. Together."

Derek blinks at him dumbly, vision suddenly blurring at the very idea. The chance to… to have Stiles in his… to have sex with…

"Wait, you want to have sex with  _me_.”

"Yes! Well," Stiles pulls a face quickly, "Not like, I’m desperate to have sex with you and this was the only legit ploy I could think of—"

His heart starts racing, and Derek’s tongue feels too big for his mouth. Stiles’ scent is doing crazy things, filling Derek’s head with ideas, with images of how Stiles would be, and  _Jesus Christ_  he’s thought about. He’s willing enough to admit, to himself, that he loses himself thinking about Stiles’ hands sometimes, Stiles’ mouth, Stiles’ laugh, bright and fond in his ear, or against Derek’s neck. How they’d fit together, what it would be like touching him, breathing him in, kissing him. 

But, it was all in a reality where Derek was brave enough to tell him how he felt. It was private, theirs. It wasn’t a fleeting thing, a— cash thing. 

"For money," he interrupts Stiles’ ramble of how the genius idea struck him in bed the night before. 

He doesn’t need to be a genius to figure out  _just how_  the idea came to Stiles. 

"You want to film us having sex and… put it online for people to watch."

"Yes!" Stiles points between them, "This, dude? This is a good combination. You’re bossy—"

"Excuse me?"

"And, yet, you still make me feel comfortable," Stiles continues blithely, "You know, I like it. I like you."

It’s said so easily, Derek’s heart sinks.

"Stiles, for money? Other people watching us…" he doesn’t say  _make love_ because he knows exactly what Stiles’ face will do, but it’s a close thing. “Have sex,” he shakes his head, “No.”

Stiles sighs, “I figured you’d say no. Thanks for thinking about it, though.”

Derek cringes, because he thinks about it way too much, and here’s Stiles offering it him on a plate, and he can’t take it. 

"I guess I’ll just ask Isaac? I mean, I sort of hate the guy most of the time, but he’s pretty and—" Stiles shudders, "I guess I could have sex with him?"

"What? You’re just asking everyone you know?!"

"No! Just pack, dude. The single members, you first because you know…" Stiles flushes, "You’re like.. hotter than the sun so… logically…"

"I’d make you the most money," Derek surmises flatly. 

"No," Stiles’ eyes widen incredulously, "You’d be the nicest to have sex with!"

"Oh," he looks down at his coffee, unsure of how to react to Stiles casually calling throwing around comments like how attractive he thinks Derek is, how sex with him would be preferable to anyone else Stiles knows. And, they know some fairly attractive people. Not that Derek’s ever really considered any of them in that way— Scott is like his brother, and Allison— just  _no_ , Erica, he could never (Boyd would probably dare fight him for her, too), Lydia’s beautiful but Derek’s never… He’s never  _wanted_  any of them. 

Stiles is the damn exception to the rule, as ever.

"But, I guess if you’re not down then…"

Derek thinks about someone else he knows touching Stiles. He thinks about Isaac pressing Stiles into a mattress, and the two of them kissing. He thinks about Isaac being too sharp, disinterested in anything but getting off, in how Stiles would feel. He thinks about how they might connect, worse, might start dating afterwards, or making awful faces at one another the way Scott and Allison do. 

He thinks about another wolf claiming Stiles— he can’t not— it’s his  _nature_ , and he can’t—

"I’ll do it," he says suddenly. 

Stiles is the one to choke on his coffee this time, and Derek thumps him on the back casually, waits him out. 

"Great," Stiles manages hoarsely. Derek wonders if his voice rasps like that after sex, if he ever gets croaky because he’s had a dick pushing down his throat.

Fucking shit. He shouldn’t have even—

"My place?" Stiles interrupts his thoughts. 

Derek shakes his head immediately, Stiles shares his apartment with Scott and it  _reeks_  of him. He couldn’t— not if it’s going to be like this. He can’t have it smell like pack, have Stiles with him, kissing him, holding him and it all to feel like something real, only for it to be buried under the scent of pack again ten minutes later. He wouldn’t handle it very well. 

"Mine," he shrugs when Stiles looks at him. "It’s cleaner."

"Oh, ha ha," Stiles tugs at his sleeves, cheeks rosy from the warm coffee shop. "Cool," he squints at the ceiling, avoids Derek’s eye, "Should we, uh, practice?"

Derek frowns at him, “What, sex? Now?”

"No! Jesus."

"You’re the one that wants to film it," Derek points out, "I can’t be blamed for assuming you have an exhibitionist kink."

"I  _do not_  have an exhibitionist kink,” Stiles hisses back. “Look, if there was any other way—”

"You could get a job."

"The academy starts in a month, and I need my car back!"

"Fine," Derek shrugs, then looks up, "Do I get a cut of the cheque?"

"I don’t even know if we’ll make any money."

Derek very deliberately looks at Stiles’ hands, his mouth, and then up to his eyes, “We’ll make money,” he says firmly. 

Stiles swallows hard, and Derek is glad he’s not the only one suddenly smelling like a weird mix of nerves and desire.

What the fuck is he getting himself into here. 

*

"Alright," Stiles hovers in Derek’s bedroom door, looks around. "So, this is where the magic normally happens?"

Derek snorts, moves off the couch where they’ve eaten a surprisingly comfortable dinner of pizza and beer, peers over Stiles’ shoulder into his room. The room he spent an hour tidying earlier, and then messing up to an acceptable degree again. He didn’t want to look too desperate, or too keen, just… like he does this sort of thing all the time. After all, if Stiles can be cool about this, treat it like something casual, then Derek can, too. 

"Yeah," he says finally, "This is where I sleep."

Stiles turns to arch an eyebrow at him, “Just sleep? How long’s it been since— you know—” he makes a crude gesture with his hand, sticks his tongue against the inside of his cheek, and Derek rolls his eyes. 

"I can’t believe I’m going to have sex with someone that still does this," and he jerks his fist back at Stiles, "Instead of saying  _had sex_  with someone.”

"Heh," Stiles scratches the back of his neck, darts a glance at him, "I can’t believe you’re going to have sex with me at all, to be honest."

"Why not?"

"Dude, come on, it’s you."

"So?"

"So… you’d take a bullet for any of us sure, but this is sort of… you know.. different."

Derek rolls his eyes, pretends to shrug nonchalantly and resists the urge to confess this is all he wants to do with Stiles  _forever_. 

"It’s just sex."

"It’s a big deal to you," Stiles reminds him gently, and Derek huffs, leans against the door as he looks at Stiles. 

"Are you trying to talk me out of this, now?"

"No! I don’t know! I mean, aren’t you going to regret this? I don’t want to force your hand into anything, or your dick for that matter."

Despite the intensity of the situation, Derek laughs. It catches Stiles off guard, and he gives him a rueful smile, socks him on the arm. 

"I’m being serious, Derek."

"I know," Derek catches his wrist, tugs him close, and enjoys the way Stiles’ breath hitches when their noses brush. It’s not like they’re not going to be this close for at least a little while later, and he wants to savour what he can. "I’m fine. This is… it’s just us, here, okay? Don’t freak out."

"I feel like a virgin on prom night," Stiles jokes in a shrill voice. 

Derek hums, “I never went to prom.”

"Of course you didn’t," Stiles teases, "Too cool for school, right?"

"No, we were— somewhere else."

Stiles’ face falls, and he bites his lip, “Dude. Sorry. I think I just killed the mood—”

Derek leans forward and kisses him. It was just meant to be a brief thing, a reassurance, an ice breaker maybe, but Stiles makes a noise in the back of his throat, and then his hands are in Derek’s hair. Derek moans quietly, pushes him back against the door, presses his weight into him as they kiss.

They kiss like they’ve been doing it for years, like they know each other intimately, and Derek supposes in so many ways, they do. Stiles has dug in deep to Derek’s soul and remained there, sewn into the seams in ways he can’t explain, can’t fathom himself. Even when they went through rough patches— a witch that had them arguing with real anger and frustration for weeks in Stiles’ first year of college; before that when Stiles didn’t want to  _go_  to college and Derek had been the only one blunt enough to tell him how much of a waste it was— even when they weren’t speaking he was still  _there_. Still under Derek’s skin. He still mattered. He matters. A lot.

Derek drops his hands to Stiles’ waist, pushing up his shirt to rub his thumbs against bare skin, and Stiles hisses, jerks back. His pupils are blown wide and dark as he blinks at Derek, mouth red and wet and inviting.

He wets his lips, ”Uh, so, we didn’t really talk semantics…”

Derek shrugs, begins walking him backwards into the bedroom, “I don’t care.”

He turns off the voice in his head screaming that he does, he  _does_  care, he cares more than anything. If this is his one shot, he wants to make it count, even if they never talk about it again. 

Stiles’ knees hit the bed, and he stumbles, drops back onto it, tugging Derek with him. His heart is thundering in Derek’s ears, and it makes a tiny part of him hope, wish that this could be something more for Stiles, too.

He brushes the thought away, straddles Stiles easily and puts his mouth to Stiles’ neck. Stiles throws his head back wordlessly, gives Derek full access to the long, pale expanse of neck he’s always wanted to bare his mark. Now, he has no reason why he shouldn’t have it there. For once he doesn’t have to hold himself back, he can touch, he can lick, suck, bite down on the tender skin and have Stiles cant up into him desperately in return. 

Every kiss is different, and he files each of them away for keeps. He likes the way Stiles smiles into kisses, the way he touches Derek with such reverence, the way he shivers when Derek’s hands touch bare skin.

"I think you should fuck me, now," Stiles murmurs in his ear suddenly, and Derek buries a groan in warm skin.

"Do you need to set anything up?"

"What?" Stiles pulls back to look at him in confusion, and then his face clears, "Oh, the camera, oh! Shit, yeah, I… had totally remembered that," he pushes up and Derek falls to the side, watches him stand. "I have it in my bag, just—" Stiles points at him, panting just a little, "Stay exactly where you are." 

"Okay," Derek smiles stupidly at the awkward dance Stiles does, readjusting himself while he darts out of the room. He catches sight of himself in the full length mirror across the room, scowls and drops back onto the bed. The ceiling is easier to look at. He doesn’t have to take in his rumpled clothes from where Stiles has been clutching at them, or the faint smile he knows is still there as he waits for Stiles to come back. 

Always waiting. 

"Cool, okay," Stiles slams back into the room, pauses when he sees Derek. "You didn’t go anywhere."

"You told me to stay here."

"Yeah, but you never listen to me normally! I sort of half expected you to be on your way to China by now."

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek huffs, “Do I need to write it out in blood? I want to have sex with you!”

Stiles sucks in a breath, face going a deep red, “Oh, shit, when you say it like I mean— you don’t— jeez, you don’t need to get dramatic with threats of bloodshed.”

"I thought you liked the danger element of being friends with so many werewolves."

"No, I just got used to it," Stiles huffs, glaring at him as he sets up the tripod stand. "Now lie back and spread your legs," he snarks, turning on the camera. 

Derek scowls, but lets his legs fall open anyway. Stiles’ jaw drops, and his fingers slip on the camera. 

"This okay, your majesty?"

"Perfect," Stiles snaps, and there’s no lie in it. "You wanna tell the audience a little bit about yourself?"

"Sure, I’m Derek, I’m a Capricorn and I enjoy moonlit walks in the forest."

"Shocker."

"Fuck you."

"I kind of thought that was the whole point of this?"

"It would be if you ever left the damn camera alone and got over here."

"God, you’re  _so_  bossy,” Stiles glances down at his crotch incredulously, “How am I not surprised that works for me?”

Derek shrugs casually, slips out of his sweater while Stiles isn’t looking. He enjoys the way Stiles’ pulse picks up when he looks at Derek again, sees him shirtless on the bed.

"You didn’t want a hand with that?"

"I know  _you_  might need help undressing, Stiles, but I’m more than capable, thank you.”

"Who says I didn’t want to help you, huh?" 

Derek could get used to this ridiculous, playful aggression. He’s never really had sex for  _fun_. To get off, sure, and he’s had sex with people he’s enjoyed it with. But, there’s always been an underlying layer of tension, of not being totally able to trust them, to be exactly who he is. Stiles already knows who he is. Stiles has seen him at his best,  _and_  at his worse. Stiles knows him. 

Stiles is clambering back onto the bed and crawling over Derek, somehow looking far more predatory than Derek’s seen him look holding any weapon. There’s got to be something wrong with him because it turns him on more than it should. 

And, it should be weird, strange,  _awkward_  considering how they’ve gotten here, but it’s not. When Stiles leans down to kiss him, unhurried and careful, Derek kisses back enthusiastically, arches into him. 

"So," Stiles rests their foreheads together, clears his throat, "You ready?"

Derek runs his hands up underneath Stiles’ shirt, feels the muscles bunch together as Stiles arches into him. 

"Are you?"

"Uh huh," Stiles squeezes his eyes shut when Derek drags his hands down over his ass, bites his lip, "Just, oh,  _damn_.”

Derek nods, gripping him tightly and grinding up into him, “Any preferences?”

Stiles’ eyes flutter open, and he looks dazed already, pupils lust blown. “Just you,” he says hoarsely, expression suddenly overwhelmed,  _desperate_. “Just— I don’t— Derek—”

"Okay," Derek pushes up, rolls them until he’s pressing Stiles down into the mattress. It’s exactly like he’s imagined a thousand times; Stiles’ legs falling open to make room for Derek to fit between; his hands coming up to clutch at Derek’s face as they kiss again; his whole body warm and responsive to Derek. "Like this," he murmurs, and Stiles nods frantically. 

"You should—" Stiles gestures between them, and Derek smirks. 

"What? I should what, Stiles? Use your words."

"Oh, blow me," Stiles hisses.

"That’s a good suggestion," Derek grins, all teeth, and Stiles swallows, shoves at his shoulders. 

"I need to—" he sits up and yanks off his shirt, throws it across the room. 

Derek looks down at the newly bare skin in front of him, wants to put his mouth  _everywhere_ , and so he does. He grazes his teeth along Stiles’ collarbone, drags his mouth down lower, trailing his lips over freckles here and there, swirls his tongue around Stiles’ nipples. Stiles is loud, breathless moans and curse words falling from his lips, and they sound  _so good_  to Derek’s ears. He gets to Stiles’ belt, looks up and quirks an eyebrow in question. 

"Fucking yes, come on," Stiles bucks his hips up impatiently. 

"A please would be nice."

"Please," Stiles says immediately, surprising Derek. "Oh my god, Derek, would you just—  _please_ ,” he says again, dropping backwards onto the sheets and panting at the ceiling. 

Derek needs no further encouragement, tugs away Stiles’ pants and settles in-between his legs. Stiles’ scent is strongest here, warm and musky, and Derek inhales deeply, relishing it. He presses a kiss to Stiles’ inner thigh, nips at his skin when Stiles mutters about Derek being a closet softy, and then finally pulls Stiles’ briefs off, looks his fill at Stiles’ dick. 

Stiles whines softly, surprising Derek as he grabs one of his hands and tangles their fingers together. It feels suddenly so much more significant, like this is something important for Stiles, too. And Derek isn’t sure he can handle it.

"Derek?"

"Yeah," Derek squeezes his fingers, and then wets his lips— making Stiles curse— and ducks, sucks the head of Stiles’ dick into his mouth.

He makes it as good and as dirty as he knows how, swirling his tongue as he moves up and down, taking note of what works for Stiles via the hitches in his breath, the loudness of his moans. His free hand clutches at the bed sheets before settling in Derek’s hair, not really tugging on it, but merely holding on, like he needs something to anchor him. Derek’s never really… loved giving head before, but Stiles digging his feet into Derek’s shoulders, Stiles’ fingers in his hair, and the noises he’s making, the way he tastes and smells to Derek, it’s all  _so good_. 

"Derek, Derek," Stiles moans after a while, "Stop,  _stop_.”

Derek pulls off, exhales sharply against Stiles’ thigh, “What?”

"Oh my god, no need to sound so moody about it," Stiles teases. 

"I was in the middle of something."

"I know, and believe me, it was fucking awesome, but," Stiles looks down at him, swallows audibly, "I kinda though we could— you know— finish it up here?"

Derek groans, slides up the bed to kiss him deeply, and Stiles opens up for him, chases his own taste in Derek’s mouth. 

"You got lube?"

"You’re such a sweet talker—"

"Stiles!" Derek’s rocking against his hip, more than ready to get inside of him and be with him, hold him, have him, just for one night. 

"You are  _pissy_  when you’re horny, good to know.”

Derek scrunches up his nose at him, and Stiles laughs, kisses Derek’s frown. 

“‘S’in my pocket, which, I guess means you’re gonna have to go get it— seeing as you’re closest,” Stiles smirks, “And, I can’t currently feel my feet. I mean, Jesus, I did not picture you being good at head.”

"Thanks," Derek huffs. 

Stiles clutches at his neck suddenly, brings them close together, “I can’t picture you being good at everything,” he whispers, too quiet for the camera to pick up, “Or, I’d never be able to leave you alone, never be able to let you go. You always leave me first, that’s how—how it  _works_.”

Derek exhales sharply against his mouth, cups Stiles’ jaw and kisses him.

“’M’not leaving,” he murmurs.

“I know, I know, I just—” Stiles’ fingers tighten in his hair, and he looks devastating when Derek pulls back to look at his face properly. His eyes are wide and earnest, mouth bitten red and lush. Derek lets out a whine, kisses him again before he can confess something stupid, even now they’re here, really doing this. Stiles kisses him back like he knows anyway.

When he gets up, it’s with a strange feeling growing inside his chest, like the one before Christmas, or waiting for a parcel in the mail, like something good is coming, like  _hope_. 

It’s all too quick. There’s too much to remember. Stiles rocking back on his fingers, kicking Derek’s pants away, laughing delightedly when they get stuck around one of his ankles. Stiles seeking out his mouth for clumsy kisses, reminding him to make sure the camera gets good angles, and making Derek briefly,  _foolishly_  jealous of anyone that will ever see this. 

Derek tries to save everything to memory; never wants to forget the way Stiles looked when Derek skimmed across his prostate for the first time, the way his fingers had dug brands into Derek’s shoulders; his slick, hot skin against Derek’s own. The way they moved together without always needing words, Stiles pressing kisses to Derek’s jaw, eagerly pulling his legs up for Derek, his body welcoming Derek, wet and hot and fucking perfect. 

Derek tries to set a slow rhythm— knows they’re supposed to make it last for the fucking video— but, he can’t stop once he’s inside of Stiles. He can’t help himself as he thrusts forward and Stiles cries out, pushes back against him, Derek’s name falling from his lips. He snaps his hips again, and Stiles crows, throws one hand back to grip the headboard, the other clinging to Derek’s neck. 

"Yeah, fucking  _fuck me_ , Derek,” he breathes out. “Fuck, do it.”

"Fuck, Stiles, you’re so fucking good like this," Derek splays his hand out against Stiles’ thigh, pushes his leg wider and groans as he sinks in deeper. "You’re so  _tight_.”

"Again with the sweet talk," Stiles laughs, and Derek kisses him hard, bites at his mouth, wants to swallow up his smile, have it carved into his bones. 

They move against one another frantically, Stiles meeting Derek’s every thrust, hand tight against his neck, holding Derek in place, close enough for their mouths to brush. When Derek opens his eyes, Stiles is looking back at him, wonder and awe reflected back at him. Derek can’t imagine he looks anything less than stunned 

He is stunned.  _Felled_.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Derek was supposed to be clinical about it. It’s not at all; it’s passionate and wild and fucking primal.. Derek ducks to put his teeth back against the mark he left on Stiles’ neck earlier, mouths wetly against it. 

"Mine," he mumbles, "You’re  _mine_.”

"Fucking yes," Stiles agrees, "Yours, fuck, Derek, never— thought— need you."

"Yes," Derek agrees, slamming into him, pushing Stiles’ legs up higher, touching him everywhere he can.

"You’re mine, too," Stiles murmurs in his ear, drags his fingernails down Derek’s back. 

Derek feels the scratches so much deeper than they go, howls against Stiles’ skin as he comes inside of him. 

"God,  _fuck_ ,” Stiles moans, still rocking up against him, and Derek reaches down between them, gets a hand around his cock, jerking him off as he kisses his neck again. “ _Derek_ ,” Stiles sighs out, going still and scrunching up his eyes as he comes. 

Derek peppers kisses to his face as Stiles comes down, cracks his eyes open and grins at Derek dazedly. 

"That was  _sensational_ ,” he slurs, “Gonna get so fucking rich.”

Derek pulls away, frowns down at him, “What?”

Stiles pats his face, shuffling against him sleepily, “You’re on clean up, big guy. I can’t feel my legs, let alone my  _feet_.”

Derek sits up, stares blankly at the camera for a moment, before picking up one of the discarded pillows and throwing it right at the stupid red light.

*

He waits until Stiles is fast asleep—which doesn’t take long at all—before going and sitting in the living room. He can’t bear to be beside Stiles for long enough to get used to his scent in bed. He doesn’t want to fall asleep next to him, to hold him in his arms, and wake up for it all to be gone. He shouldn’t have agreed to this, but he couldn’t resist… Not to have known the way Stiles would feel,  to have known every way Stiles would kiss him, every frantic, breathless moment. He couldn’t help but want it.

He’s stupid to think Stiles wouldn’t notice him being weird, and he’s not sure why he’s surprised when Stiles pads into the living room half an hour later. It’s pitch black, but Stiles feels his way over to the couch with the familiar ease of one who knows their own home, like he belongs here. He’s wearing Derek’s t-shirt. Derek groans silently, looks at the ceiling.

“’You brooding?”

Derek huffs, “No, I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Funny, you seemed pretty worn out an hour ago.”

“I got a second wind.”

Stiles pinches his thigh, and Derek slaps his hand away, “Stiles, don’t.”

“Don’t what? Touch you?” Stiles’ eyes widen incredulously, “I knew we shouldn’t have done that, Derek, oh my god. I told you to say no if it was going to be too weird!”

“I’m sorry if I’m making things uncomfortable for you,” Derek snaps, “Not everyone can process things in five minutes, Stiles.”

“Dammit,” Stiles stands, kicks at Derek’s shin, “You fucking idiot!”

“I’m the idiot?”

“Yes! I’m sorry if having sex with me was such a monumentally fucking bad idea, but it’s done, and now we can pretend it never happened. I’ll mail you the cheque!”

“Fine!”

“Fine! You can go on with your life of hating me and—”

“I don’t hate you! At all. Quite the opposite, and that’s the fucking problem! So, yes, Stiles, I’m probably going to need some space while I deal with the fact that earlier was the only time I’m ever going to get what I want, and  _you_  can be the one to move on with your life like nothing happened.”

Stiles’ mouth opens, and then snaps shut, expression going confused. “You—I—you li—you  _like_  me like me?”

“Duh,” Derek huffs childishly, folding his arms.

“But… you acted like you didn’t want to have sex with me  _at all_  to start with.”

“For money, Stiles! For people to watch?”

“Oh, screw that,” Stiles shouts, marching back into the bedroom suddenly. “Fucking werewolves and their total inability to actually read anybody, even with heightened fucking senses!” He returns, brandishing the camera, “I don’t give a shit if anyone ever sees this, Derek. What happened in there—it—fuck, it was like… it was perfect, okay? Like we were fucking meant to be. And I didn’t think you felt that way, so I thought, what the hell, right? It’s just sex. We’ll do it, and maybe it’ll be okay, and it was fucking  _stupendous_ , but I don’t give a shit if anyone else knows that! It was more than I—I can’t even—I don’t want to share it!”

“So what you’re saying,” Derek lurches off the couch, strides towards him and grabs the camera, “Is that you don’t care about the money, or the video, but just about me?”

“Yes! In fact, I don’t know why we’re still arguing about this because it seems like we’re finally on the same page!”

Derek tosses the camera on the couch, crowds Stiles up against the wall, “I don’t know why we’re shouting, but I know I fucking  _love_  you, and I’m going to kiss you.”

“Fine!” Stiles yanks on his shoulders, tugs him in, “I love you, too, okay. You’re not—no one is seeing that tape. I’ll just sell the camera, and my baseball cards, and my clothes, maybe—I—”

Derek kisses him, kisses him with everything he has, hands curling around his waist, pulling him flush against him.

Stiles harrumphs against his mouth, even as his fingers are trailing up through Derek’s hair, yanking him closer.

“No clothes selling,” Derek tells him. “No one else can…. Have those.”

Stiles smirks, rubs their noses together, “No sharing at all, huh?”

“No,” Derek says firmly, messes with the hem of the shirt Stiles is wearing, “Except this—this is okay.”

“Dully noted,” Stiles’ voice turns teasing, “Me wearing your clothes gets you all hot and bothered.”

“ _You_  get me all hot and bothered,” Derek retorts, and Stiles laughs, loud and bright in his ear, just like he always wanted.


End file.
